


choices, sartorial & otherwise

by wagamiller



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 23:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wagamiller/pseuds/wagamiller
Summary: The girl he loves actually recoils from him, one hand raised in front of her to stay his approach, and the jacket that fit him like a glove just a moment ago is suddenly too heavy, too tight, too much.continuation of the trailer scene for 1x13.





	choices, sartorial & otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> Inevitable post-bingewatch fic
> 
> I'm a sucker for how well these two communicate so naturally I had to write them talking out their issues after that last scene. Don't let the summary fool you, this is complete and utter fluff and I'm not a bit sorry. Enjoy!

It takes maybe a minute for the gang to leave, presumably the same way they came – with the the thud of boots across the rain-soaked dirt and the bark of dogs and the rev of too many engines firing all at once. The whole time all Jughead thinks is, how? How the hell did he not hear them coming? How the hell did he not _see_ this coming?

Well, no, that’s not really all he thinks.

He thinks about the girl hovering in his doorway, the one he was so caught up in just now – is so caught up in always – that he didn’t even notice half a god-damn biker gang until they’d already descended on him. He watches Betty as she watches the Southside Serpents go and he can’t shake the feeling that he might be watching her go too, even as she’s standing still. 

When the last tail-light winks away, Betty finally turns away and goes back inside the trailer. She doesn’t close the door behind her and hope, so familiar an enemy, flares white hot and dangerous in Jughead’s chest. He follows Betty at once and finds her pacing the tiny front room of the trailer, her hands fisted at her sides. Just like that, the spark burns right out.

He starts towards her, heart in his throat. “Listen, Betty–” 

She shakes her head, taking a step back. 

Away from him.

The girl he loves actually recoils from him, one hand raised in front of her to stay his approach, and the jacket that fit him like a glove just a moment ago is suddenly too heavy, too tight, too much.

“Betty?” In the dim light he transforms the shadowy lines on her palm into what he knows them to be – four fresh little crescents that are all his fault. “Please, don’t–”

“I just...” She shrugs her coat off her shoulders and turns away, taking far too long to fold it and place it on the old armchair. There are tears in her eyes when she finally turns back to him, when she says, “I don’t understand, Jug.”

"It's just a jacket," he says. It’s a dumb line and an even dumber lie but he’s spiralling here, panic crowding out reason with every passing second that she won’t let him near her. 

“No,” she says quietly. The rebuke lands louder than any of the screaming matches he’s witnessed in this trailer over the years. There really is nothing in this world like Betty Cooper’s disappointment. “It’s not.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, blowing out an unsteady breath, “it's not." 

His honesty doesn’t chase the pinch of a frown from her face but it does earn him something just as precious – she takes a step towards him. Then another. He matches her inch for inch, careful not to take a step more than she’s giving, until they finally meet in the middle of the floor.

The rain batters a relentless beat against the roof of the trailer but he barely hears it, barely registers the door rattling where he left it just off the latch. The only sound that matters is their breathing, ragged and unsteady but still in sync, even now. She’s close enough that he can see the flush still on her neck from his lips and suddenly it is unbearable not to be touching her.

He reaches for her but she beats him to it, closing the last of the distance between them and taking hold of his jacket with both hands. 

“Well?” he prompts as she eyes the jacket speculatively, her head cocked to the side. There’s a possessiveness in the white of her knuckles that he kinds of likes, despite of the circumstances.

“I …” She sweeps her thumbs over the leather, up the edges of a zipper. “...Don’t like it.”

Jughead huffs half a laugh, desperately grateful for the moment of levity. "Not sure I'm keen on it myself yet."

“Good.” With that, she tightens her hands into fists and jerks him towards her, kissing him hard and fast. It’s too quick and more than a little desperate, over before he can do anything but return the pressure of her lips against his.

“Betty–” She keeps tugging at his jacket even as she pulls away, aimlessly plucking at the fabric under her hands like she might be able to pull it to pieces and off his back with her bare hands. “Hey, hey, stop.” He closes his hands over hers, stilling her frantic movements. “Stop.”

"Why'd you have to take it?" she says, after a moment.

“I look good in leather,” he offers lamely, just to make her laugh. It works, and it's a little hysterical, a little teary but god, it's something. "Sorry."

“This is serious, Juggie.”

“I know.”

“Then say something serious,” she prompts, those big earnest eyes of hers fixed on him.

“I didn’t – I really didn’t have much of a choice,” he says, pretending not to notice how she shuffles back a little at his explanation, building a space between them. Pretending it doesn't terrify him. 

She shakes her head, total conviction on her face. "There's always a choice–”

"Not always, Betty,” he says, even as he hates himself for stamping on the idealism he loves in her. “Not for someone like me.”

“What does that even mean?” she counters, scowling. “Someone like–” 

“It means that–” He huffs, shoving his hair out of his eyes. “It means … oh, I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Betty’s frustration seems to melt away in the face of his. “Try,” she says softly, dropping down onto the old couch and patting the space beside her. Like she even has to ask. Like sitting beside her isn’t all he wants in the world most of the time. “Talk to me, Jughead.”

He drops down beside her at once, his hand going straight to pull at a loose thread on the arm of the couch, unravelling it even more. His eyes flit around the trailer, to a peeling corner of wallpaper, to the dusty lamp shade he must have missed when he was cleaning, before finally settling on the girl beside him. She's the brightest thing in his whole universe and nothing in this shabby little room shines even a bit like she does. Even now, with her lights a little dimmed.

“Those guys, they’re not … irredeemably bad, Betty,” he says, because she deserves a proper explanation. She deserves absolutely everything he’s got. “Isn’t that what your article was trying to say?”

“Yeah, but–”

“They’re Riverdale too,” he says, knocking his thigh against hers as he quotes her own words back at her. “For better or worse.”

She rolls her eyes at that, deflating a little but not like she's upset. Like she's listening. Like he's getting through. He takes her hand, frowning at the chill on her skin, and she smiles at the contact. It’s a little sad, a little scared, but beautiful all the same. Making Betty Cooper smile is still the best thing he knows how to do.

“The Southside … it’s – it’s not the easiest place, Betty,” he goes on, “but it’s where I’ve got to be right now.”

“I get that. I mean, I hate it,” she says, pulling a face, “but I do get it.” She laces their fingers tighter together, pulling his hand onto her lap. “But this – the Serpents – that’s something else. Something dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful,” he says, looking around the tiny trailer again, the sum total of his father’s assets. Old furniture and ratty drapes and a leaky faucet. “I’m not my Dad, Betty.”

“I know.” He could fall for her all over again just for how easily she says that. How completely she believes it.

“But I am his son,” he says, giving her a tight smile. “And that means that even with a nice foster family and all the very nice, very strong locks they have on their front door, I still might need these guys on my side.” 

“But you’ve got me,” she says and oh, if that isn’t just exactly why he loves her, all wrapped up in one sentence. Betty Cooper is a one woman army ready to go to war, to take on anything, anyone, even the whole god-damn town, for the people she loves. “I’m on your side.”

Sometimes, most of the time really, he doesn’t know what to do with this kind of loyalty. No-one else has ever offered him anything even close. 

“C’mere.” He takes her face in his hands and gently tilts her chin up to kiss her. There are tears on his cheeks and tears in her eyes and god, he _loves_ her. Like nothing and no-one else.

“I know,” he breathes against her lips, warming her cold cheeks under his hands. “I know and I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” she says after a moment, so quietly it’s almost lost to the sound of the rain pattering the roof. It still sounds like the best thing he’s ever heard. “So much, Jug. That’s what scares me. I can’t lose you.”

“Not a chance,” he says, throat tight. Sometimes it still surprises him that she’s scared of losing him too. That anyone would be, really.

“You can’t know what,” she says, pulling away a little and shaking her head. “I hate how much is changing–” She’s talking fast now, tripping herself up as she rushes to unburden things that have obviously been bothering her for longer than he’s been wearing this jacket. “You’re going to a new school, you’re gonna meet new people, new _girls_ –”

“Seriously?” He throws her a look, too surprised to be anything but kind of amused. “I’m not interested in anyone that isn’t you, Betty. Also I don’t know if you’ve met me but I wear a hat all the time and girls tend to think I’m weird.” He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You, Elizabeth Cooper, are the exception that I am permanently surprised by and grateful for.”

“Oh no, I definitely think you’re weird,” she teases, almost but not quite smiling again. “I just happen to like that.”

“See?” he says, stealing a quick kiss. “Why would I ever throw that away?”

“Even so,” Betty says, still not quite charmed out of her worries, “we’ll be apart all week, I’ll barely see you–”

“We’ll make time. I’ll see you every weekend, every night if you’ll have me–”

“Your foster family–”

“Are surprisingly nice and not at all Count Olaf-esque. They did in fact give you a standing invitation to come over for dinner. Although,” he allows, “I think that was mostly to see if I was making you up.”

“You really think we’ll be okay?” She worries her lip between her teeth, still not happy, and that is just … unacceptable.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Betty, but people don’t tend to stick around for me. With just a couple of exceptions.” He counts them off on two fingers of one hand. “Archie. You.”

She looks hard at him, frowning in that very Betty Cooper way that says she’s seen an injustice and won’t rest until she sets it right. He’d laugh, if she wasn’t so very serious with it. So totally, purely good. “You deserve better than that, Juggie.”

“I guess my Dad being willing to go to prison for murder just to protect me also counts,” he amends, smiling as she rolls her eyes at his flippancy. “But it’s not really the same.”

“Jug–”

“See but my point – my point is this, how long have we known each other. Betty?”

“I don’t know exactly–” She blows out a breath, casting around. “Forever.”

“Right …. forever.” Betty as a child was a lot like Betty now – sweet and funny and kind to the slightly ragged kid, the one who never had anything new, anything nice. 

“You know me, Betty,” he goes on, voice breaking a little. “You know there aren’t many people that I like, even less that I love. But I like you – I just told you that I _love_ you – and by some ridiculously unbelievable stroke of luck, like I’m talking the universe making up for all the shitty things that have happened in my life, you actually love me back.” 

He shakes his head, taking her in. Big eyes and pink cheeks and in love with him, of all people. 

“Betty, you are the best thing in my life, hands down,” he says, smiling at the blush that stains her cheeks. “I’m not gonna do a thing to jeopardise this, okay? I don’t want to lose you either.”

She melts a little at his words, some of the the shadows that have been clouding her smiles ever since he first said the words Southside High seeming to finally lift. He throws his arm over the back of the couch and she curls into his side immediately, humming a contented sigh that makes him feel better than anything else can. 

“So basically,” she says, toying again with the zipper on his jacket, “you’re saying I’m worrying for nothing?” 

“I’m saying I’m not going anywhere.” He cocks his head, considering that. “Metaphorically speaking, obviously. I mean, literally I am moving to the Southside, that’s–”

“Okay, okay, enough talking,” she says, laughing as she leans up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Agreed,” he says, lowering his arm around her shoulders to anchor her against him. He runs his hand down her arm, finding goosebumps under his fingers. “Woah, Betty, you’re freezing.”

“Oh, yeah,” she agrees, burrowing still further into his side, “but I think we’ve established that I definitely don’t want your jacket.”

He splutters out a laugh, hearing the vibrations of her answering laughter rumble from her chest to his, everywhere she’s pressed against him.

“Hold on,” he says, disentangling himself from her embrace and fighting a smile as she grumbles at the loss of contact. He pads over to the front door, closing it properly this time, shutting out the howl of the wind and rain outside. “There,” he says, making a show of locking it as well. “Better?”

“Much,” Betty agrees, cocking her head and considering him as he makes his way back to her. “Now … lose the jacket.”

“What? Betty, I thought–”

“Jughead,” she says slowly, deliberately trailing her eyes up and down his body. “Lose. The. Jacket.”

“Oh,” he says, more than a little dumbstruck. “ _Oh.”_

If he had any sense left in his head he might take it off casually, maybe even a little slowly, but Betty is crooking her finger at him and he can hardly breathe, so he practically tears the thing off his back, flinging it unceremoniously onto the old armchair beside Betty’s coat.

Still, Betty doesn’t seem to mind. She just smiles at him, steady and sure, watching with open appreciation as he crosses the room in two strides and drops down beside her on the couch again. 

“So,” she says, curling back into his side and tucking her legs up underneath her. Her hand lands on his chest, right over his heart. He wonders if she can feel the moment it starts pounding, wonders if she realises it’s the exact same moment that her short skirt starts to ride up her thighs. “Where were we?”

“Oh, I don’t really remember,” he says offhandedly, curling his finger under the wide strap of her blouse, “just … somewhere in the middle of one of the single greatest moment of my entire existence.”

Betty laughs low in her throat and a deluge of memories from earlier suddenly crowd in – his lips on her pulse point, her clothes on his floor. He drops his hand to her thigh, to the cool, soft skin there, drawing the slightest of gasps from her lips.

“That good, huh?” she says, biting her lip in a way that should absolutely be illegal.

He runs a finger slowly up her thigh, satisfied to see her eyes darken. “You know it was,” he says, his voice hardly there.

She kisses him then, soft and torturously slow, before pulling slightly away, lingering with her lips a hair’s breadth from his. “Remind me.”

There’s a challenge in her eyes – a hundred questions shining there – and how can he resist that? All he’s ever wanted is to find her answers. 

As fast as she was slow he kisses her, pulling her still closer until finally she climbs right into his lap, bracketing his thighs with her knees. Through their kisses he tugs at her top, encouraging it off and then his hands are on her skin and her skirt is pushed up almost to her waist and absolutely everything in him is aching for her.

It is … spectacular and spectacularly awkward, all at the same time. He gets tangled up in his sweater when he tries to take it off, losing a solid few seconds with his head trapped inside, Betty trying and failing to help tug it off. When she finally pulls him free of it she can’t stop laughing and then suddenly they’re bumping noses whenever they try to kiss and he never thought he’d find any of this funny but it is – it’s funny and it’s fun and he’s insanely glad that it’s Betty he’s doing all this with. Her hand slips into his hair, right where his hat usually is, right where he doesn’t let anyone touch him, and still all he feels is safe. 

He tugs her hair, gently angling her head and kissing the the hollow of her throat, right where she’s laughing. Until she’s not laughing anymore. Her cheeks are a shockingly bright pink and she’s just as lost as he is, humming his name against him, pressing breathless kisses to the soft skin under his jaw. He runs a hesitant hand up her thigh, watching her eyes flutter closed, and when she shifts her hips his vision whites out completely. “God, Betty–”

“Jug–” He could definitely get used to hearing his name like that, breathless and desperate, and a thrill shoots through him at the realisation that he absolutely can expect to get used to this. “Wait.”

“What?” he says, pulling back at once and pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes so he can see her face. “Are you okay? Did I do something–”

“Only good somethings,” she assures him, soothing her tongue over her swollen lips. “It’s just … you have a bedroom here, right?” She starts to blush now which is sort of hilarious considering she’s been half-naked in his lap in the middle of his father’s trailer for the past ten minutes. “I mean ... there’s not just your Dad’s–”

“Oh god, no. I mean, yes, I have a bedroom.”

“Right.”

“And protect–”

“That too,” he agrees, far too eagerly.

“Okay, then.” She climbs off him carefully and he swallows hard as she smoothes her skirt down neatly. She’s topless, one strap of her pale pink bra falling down her arm, and yet for some reason the hottest thing in the world is watching her straighten the creases he put in her skirt. 

Jughead gives his head a shake, like that might put some sense back into his brain, and gets up slowly, making a poor effort of hiding the evidence of her effect on him. 

“You were wrong, y’know,” she says, smiling almost shyly. She closes the space between them, and when she breathes in, she’s so close that her breasts almost brush his chest. “About one thing.”

“Oh yeah?” he says vaguely, still kind of captivated by the rise and fall of her chest, by how close she is. “Only one?”

“It’s not luck,” she says softly. “It never was.”

He fixes her attention back on her face, on her soft eyes and her small smile. “What–”

“Me loving you,” she says, eyes never leaving his. “It’s a choice.” She takes his hand in hers, locking their fingers together. “I choose you.”

She’s right of course, she always is. Love is a choice and a fight and the hardest, best thing he’s ever known. But right now, as she leads him by the hand to the bedroom, smiling shyly over her shoulder the whole time, he thinks he still might have to agree to disagree, just a little. Betty Cooper loves him and no matter what else that means, it absolutely means that he is the luckiest guy on either side of the tracks in this strange little town.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr under the same username. Come yell with me about this pairing any time.


End file.
